Thicker Than Blood
by Sirabella
Summary: Everyone knows Gideon is always there when things go south. But Hotch has cause to stretch that support farther than ever before, and the question is: does Gideon have his limits? And how much can Elle help without making things worse?
1. Chapter 1

No one thought anything of it when Hotch's cellphone rang. The rest of the BAU team was huddled in a corner of the office, discussing their options. The case was getting more puzzling every second; with every apparent breakthrough came another setback. Gideon let out an exasperated breath and almost said something insulting to the only person who didn't look as frazzled as he felt—Elle. Nothing but calm ever showed on her perfect face. It was infinitely annoying; but the retort died on his lips as he turned around and caught sight of Hotch's face. It was bloodless, and his hand was shaking on the phone. He steadied it, though, when he saw the entire team staring at him.

"Are you sure it's her?" Everyone stared harder as Hotch rattled off his license plate number and a thorough description of Haley. The vague spark of hope in his eyes died and he mumbled a quiet "thank you, I'll be right there" as he closed the phone and leaned heavily on the desk. No one said anything for a moment, and then Gideon surreptitiously moved the others towards the door. He closed it behind them and waited. Hotch kept his gaze on the view from the office window as he forced the words out. "Haley was taking the baby for his checkup. There was...an accident." He swallowed hard and tried again. "He's fine; he was in the back, strapped into the car seat. They're taking care of him in the ICU." Gideon moved closer, tentatively resting a hand on Hotch's back. The touch forced a harsh sob out of him, and he whispered: "Haley didn't...they couldn't..." After a few moments he seemed to draw strength from the arm now wrapped around his shoulders, and he straightened up. "I have to get to the hospital," he said in such a firm voice that Gideon was visibly shocked.

"I'll drive you," he insisted in a tone that was almost daring Hotch to try and argue with him. "And then you and your son are coming to stay with me." An odd combination of anger, shame and gratitude crossed Hotch's face.

"I don't need a babysitter," he said shortly.

"No," Gideon agreed. "But I'm not leaving you alone in your house. Let's go."

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When they got to the hospital, Gideon headed for the ICU and sent Hotch to find the doctors who had attempted surgery on Haley. Hotch needed to say goodbye; as one-sided as the conversation would be, Gideon knew from experience that without closure, the healing would be a much harder and much longer process. Not that it was on the horizon at this point, anyway. But that wasn't the issue; his objective for the rest of the day was to first take care of a little baby, and then the baby's father. 'Hotch might not need a babysitter,' Gideon thought, 'but he needs someone to keep him from sleeping in that suit.' The nurses handed the child over to him on the strength of his FBI badge, as long as he didn't go anywhere, so he rocked the baby and waited for Hotch.

"Gideon." His voice was tired, drained, and there were tear-tracks on his face, but he looked brighter when he caught sight of his son asleep in Gideon's arms.

Gideon smiled slightly. "Kid's just like you; he catches his Zs where he can." Hotch's face fell.

"We should, um, go by the house and pick up his stuff." It was quite plain that there were few things that Hotch less wanted to do.

"Don't worry about it," was Gideon's swift reply. "We'll go back to my place, and you and he can get comfortable while I go grab your things."

Hotch's soft smile was hesitant. "But how will you know what to bring?"

"I think I know the difference between the personal effects of a man, a woman and a baby," Gideon said gently. Nevertheless, a flash of pain scorched across Hotch's face for a moment.

His voice shook as he begged, "please, just leave..."

"Leave her things alone," Gideon finished for him. "Don't worry."


	2. Chapter 2

When Gideon opened his front door, carrying a suitcase for his houseguests, he found Hotch, minus his suit jacket, walking the baby around the house. Hotch, seeing the suitcase, nodded gratefully. "I've been showing him around. I think the tour tired him out again."

Gideon smirked. "Kid doesn't have a lot of stamina. The grand tour of this place could only take about 2 minutes, tops."

"Yeah, well, he's a baby; it's not just the stamina, it's the short attention span."

"I hope for your sake he grows out of it," Gideon remarked as he carried the suitcase to the spare bedroom. "You want him to sit still long enough to do what you tell him." There was no reply, and Gideon looked back over his shoulder. Hotch was leaning against the doorframe and clutching his son tightly; he didn't react to Gideon's attempts to get his attention, but he gave a start when the baby began to whimper. Gideon's hand squeezed his shoulder. "He's ok. You just have to ease up a little."

"I lost her, Jason," Hotch whispered, resting his forehead on the baby's shoulder. "And I almost lost him, too...in that one second, and I wasn't there.  
My baby..."

Gideon's voice was the epitome of forced calm. "I brought the crib. You said he was falling asleep, so let's put him to bed. And then you'll come have something to eat." The anxious look on Hotch's face made him add: "If we leave the door open, we'll be able to hear if he so much as coughs."

"Thank you." The words were simple, but Hotch's expression was eloquent, and Gideon understood; he turned away quickly, and his answer came from the hallway.

"Always."

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"I can't believe you actually wear that." Gideon had thrown an apron over his head, tied it behind his back in a few quick movements and had set to work in a whirlwind of pans and utensils, and Hotch could do nothing but stare...and mock the apron, of course. Gideon was disappointingly unruffled.

"An apron is not, as some may think, a tribute to female vanity. It is a useful tool that not only makes my laundry go much quicker but also saves me from frequenting the cattle drive that is my local drycleaner. Ok?"

Hotch snorted. "When you said we'd have something to eat, I assumed we'd call for Chinese takeout."

"Waste of money," was Gideon's only comment.

"I'm not complaining. Just wait until I tell the others. I think they'd agree to moving the office in here. You cook, we profile."

"You, I invited. Elle I could handle; she's quiet. Reid is far too inquisitive...no, not inquisitive. Nosy. As for Morgan, J.J. and Garcia, I think the word 'no' makes my position quite clear."

"Too much youthful enthusiasm there, huh?" Gideon grimaced, but his back was turned as he leaned over the stove. "That's it, isn't it?" Hotch suddenly wanted to know. "You don't feel comfortable with any of them. You only think of Elle and me as your equals, because we're like you; we're calm and meticulous, and we get the job done. Reid is your intellectual equal, even superior, but in many ways, he's still just a boy. Morgan, J.J. and Garcia are the ones who throw you off balance, like kids you're babysitting; you're worried that if you give any slack in the reins, they'll stampede all over your authority."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Gideon replied: "Elle's not like you. She is strong and capable, but she's impulsive; she wants to nail the un-subs' asses to the wall, and that's a substantial pitfall for a profiler." He turned to face Hotch. "You're the dependable one."

Hotch swallowed hard and lowered himself into a chair. He rested his head in his hands before he spoke, so quietly that Gideon had to cover some of the distance between them in order to hear. "My own family couldn't depend on me, Jason."

Gideon threw the spatula down on the counter, and the loud clang made Hotch look up in surprise. "Listen to me," Gideon growled. "It is your job to protect your family from hunger, from poverty, from scum trying to break in your back door, since I know from Haley that you keep your gun in the nightstand. But it is not your job to protect them from acts of God. It is not your job to control your whole universe, Hotch. People make mistakes, things go wrong, and you cannot do anything about it. All you can do is be the person you are and hope that's enough." He gripped Hotch's shoulder tightly and looked him straight in the eye. "It is not your fault that Haley is dead," he said firmly.

"She was my wife." The words were almost a plea, and they were thick with the threat of tears. "We were supposed to raise our son together, grow old together. We promised."

"I know," Gideon whispered. Those words released Hotch's tears, and Gideon ran a hand across his shoulders and the back of his neck as he cried.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N #1: I'm studiously avoiding any mention of the baby's name; as far as I know, he doesn't have one, and I don't want to be the one to choose it for him.

A/N #2: This started out with just Hotch and Gideon as main characters, but I'm afraid it's no use; Elle's comin' in here. I should give some explanation for the domination of Hotch and Elle over my CM stories. I was struck in about the third episode of the show at the way they just seemed to instantly click, mostly as colleagues, but also in their personalities; somehow, they're both just on the same wavelength. And now, after Fisher King Pt. 2, well, I have to admit I'm a little obsessed with the two of them. Anyway, who was the one she told about her fear of the job becoming her whole life? And who's the one being consumed by the job now? ANYway. Back to the story.

A/N #3: Just kidding :) But last one, I promise. I'm expanding on what little we learned about Elle's childhood in this season opener. What can I say; I need more :) _Now_, back to the story.

As the baby let out yet another skull-splitting wail, Gideon forced patience into his touch and grimly rubbed even slower circles up and down the child's back. Thanks to some sleeping pills which Gideon had slipped into Hotch's drink at dinner and was now fervently wishing he hadn't, Hotch was dead to the world, which left Gideon to man the fort. He liked babies, actually, but not when they screamed. Especially not when they screamed like an air raid siren. And especially, _especially_ not at 2:30 AM. "Come on, son," he pleaded, unable to keep a little note of desperation out of his sleep-deprived tones. He never stooped to pleading with murderers or kidnappers, but an infant had him on the point of abject begging. 'He's not even my kid,' he groaned to himself. 'Yes,' his subconscious answered, 'but who maneuvered him into this house? Who drugged his father to get him to rest?' 'Who can get a baby to sleep and won't kill me if I wake them up?' was the next question he asked himself; it seemed more productive than the others. The answer came surprisingly quickly.

Hotch was fished up out of a fog of sleep by a distant ringing sound. He stared blearily at the alarm clock. It said 2:54 AM. He checked the battery. No, it was still set for 9. What was going on? He was even more confused by lowered voices in the hallway. Two of them. One was female. It sounded annoyed. More whispering, and now it sounded resigned and sad. It was no good; he was too curious to go back to sleep. He crept across the carpet and followed the voices' trail to Gideon's room. He froze in the doorway.

The lamp by the window had been switched on, and the warm light revealed none other than Elle, sitting in the rocking chair and cuddling the baby. Something sliced through Hotch as if he were butter; he had a brief vision of Haley singing to their son, trying to get him to sleep, as Elle was doing now. His eyes clouded up, but he blinked until they cleared, and he had to smile at the sight of the most self-possessed woman he knew fawning over what was essentially, to other people at least, just a very young person. To him, of course, his son was his entire world, especially now... He decided to make his presence known before she caught him standing there.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself. What do you know; the father finally shows his face." Hotch winced; her tone was light, but her eyes and smile were full of sympathy.

"I might have shown it sooner if Gideon hadn't slipped me enough Valium to knock out a herd of sheep." He looked around, as if expecting to see his host looming up out of a dark corner. "Where is he, anyway?"

Elle nodded towards the bed, where a quilt-covered mass steadily rose and fell with Gideon's slumbering breaths. "After I took over for him, he made a beeline for his pillow. Guess he wasn't cut out to be a mother." The impact of these words resounded like a sonic boom, but Hotch's urge to flee faded as he blindly caught Elle's strangled words. "Oh, God, Hotch, I'm sorry..."

He suddenly felt ridiculous. She had dragged herself across town in the witching hour to try to put his baby to sleep so that he and Gideon (who was practically babysitting _him _as well) could get some rest, and he was on the point of biting her head off. What was wrong with him? "Don't apologize, please," he murmured in a very contrite voice that he barely recognized. He forced himself to turn around and face her and felt even worse at her stricken expression. "Elle, God, don't look at me like that! What you and Gideon are doing, it's...well, it's beyond 'above and beyond.' I'm really grateful. And I promise, when I can be...coherent...about what happened, you'll be the first to know. Just don't—walk on eggshells."

Elle's grin was relieved and, thankfully, sincere. "Understood. Now, how about some pointers? This little guy is stubborn. I got him to stop screaming, thank God almighty, but he still won't sleep."

Hotch smiled. "He will. The fact that you got him to quiet down means he likes you. He's just making up his mind to trust you, and once he does that, he'll sleep."

"He thinks too much," she answered wryly. "Just like his father."

"Yeah, well, right now, I'm only thinking about going back to bed," Hotch admitted. "Do you mind?"

"Do I mind missing about half a night's sleep when I have to be at the office in less than four hours? Actually, no, I don't." She smiled at his disbelief. "I spent most of my teenage years raising my sister," she explained quietly. Hotch watched in surprise as her gaze focused on something far away. "I always threw a fit when my mom staggered home at three in the morning and begged me to feed the baby, or change her, or something. Babysit her on weekends, afternoons after school; whenever I was free, Mom made sure that she wasn't. But I guess I miss it," she finished in a slightly wistful voice that nearly broke Hotch once more, but he pulled himself together in time.

"Be my guest," he muttered, trying to sound off-handed, but Elle was no fool. He could see it in her eyes; she knew that something about this was bothering him. Judging by the worry he found, though, she didn't know what it was.

"No, I'll just be your back-up babysitter," she answered uncertainly. "You and Gideon seem like you've got everything except the sleeping arrangements under control."

He smiled, trying to alleviate both her concern and her confusion. "This isn't a boy's club," he said lightly. "I hope you'll stop by whenever you like. Just warn us if you plan on towing any of the others along." Elle's face cleared, as he had hoped it would. As far as she was concerned, all was explained.

"Oh, I get it. The slippery slope of the open-door policy. No problem. I've been pretty successful in keeping everyone away on pain of...well, something really horrible to be named later." They shared a conspiratorial chuckle over this; Elle could make anyone in the office, except Gideon, very, very afraid. "Believe it or not, J.J. is a really useful ally. Who'd have thought, right? The press conference queen likes keeping things under wraps."

Hotch couldn't help smiling back at her. He was suddenly struck by how his mood had lifted in the last few minutes. On the other hand, his exhaustion hadn't. "I'm sorry, I'm fading out on you," he yawned. "I'll see you in the—I'll see you at a civilized time of day," he finished wryly. He padded forward and kissed his son on the head, smiling as the baby gurgled sleepily. Hotch hesitated for a moment, then reached a hand towards Elle's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Thank you," he whispered. She nodded, meeting his eyes hesitantly, visibly holding the tears back, with considerable effort. She understood now, he realized. He had to leave. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she murmured, just before he closed the door behind him, not looking back once.


	4. Chapter 4

"Gideon, I don't think I should come back here. Not soon, anyway." Elle was practically in tears, and Gideon was, _he_ thought, understandably nervous. Elle never cried...almost never.

"What makes you say that? You saved my sanity and Hotch's last night." Elle looked him straight in the eye, trying to compose herself. If Hotch woke up and heard them...an unlikely possibility, really, after the way he'd been yawning from ear to ear only a few hours ago, but still...

"Gideon, you didn't see his face when he said goodnight. He kissed the baby, and he looked up at me, and I swear, for a second, he thought I was Haley. He thanked me for coming over, but I know he was grieving all over again. And he realized I knew, because he headed straight for the door before I could start overflowing. He was embarrassed, Gideon. He shouldn't be embarrassed to grieve for his own wife in a place where he feels safe and cared for."

"True. But tell me why, all of a sudden, you're a dead ringer for Haley, because frankly, I just don't see it."

"_Gideon_." Elle was thoroughly exasperated, and feeling unwanted by a friend in pain was not helping. "It's not about what she looked like. It was the middle of the night, he'd just woken up, and he found me there rocking his son to sleep. Women just have a different energy, Gideon, you know that. I might have been mothering the kid a little, and Hotch could feel it."

"Exactly," was Gideon's thoroughly confounding response. "That's something that I can't give Hotch or his son, but you can. And it's something he needs, whether he knows it or not. So stick around; you'd be surprised."

"Surprised how?"

Gideon sighed. "Elle, I've known Hotch a long time. In his own quiet, non-interfering way, he's very supportive of others he feels close to or responsible for. But when he's the one who's hurting...he's embarrassed. It's not you; he's just embarrassed. Afraid to just see what happens if he deals with things. Don't ask me to explain that; it's not my story. But if you stick to your guns, if you don't let him get away with it, well, we might all just get through this in one piece. I only managed one or two steps by myself; I realized last night I need your help. And so does he. The two of you finish each other's sentences, for crying out loud."

Elle smiled through the tears that had escaped despite her best efforts. "What time's dinner?"

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Hotch winced as the smell of barbequed chicken drifted into his nose and brought him back to full consciousness. It was beginning to annoy him that only external stimuli had the power to wake him now. Even full sunlight in the face didn't seem to work, as evidenced by the rays of the setting sun that were falling harmlessly over his pillow. He'd slept the day away, but he wasn't hungry. The food smells were actually a bit nauseating to his empty stomach, but he couldn't ignore them; now that he listened closely, he could hear music, too... Hotch was completely perplexed. Was Gideon having a block party? It did sound like the whole neighborhood had invaded the living room. No longer able to stop himself, Hotch staggered sleepily down the hall and blinked several times when he reached the main entranceway. He could see into the living room, but he wasn't sure he was actually awake. What he was seeing made no sense. The gourmet food smells emanating from the direction of the kitchen solved the mystery of Gideon's absence. The other mysteries, however...

The music was almost deafening from this range. Morgan was swinging a pink-cheeked Garcia around, and Elle was watching and playfully criticizing his style. In another corner, J.J. was laughing herself sick trying to teach Reid to dance with her and simultaneously avoid her toes; this seemed to be one of the few skills that eluded him. As the song ended, Garcia flopped exaggeratedly down on the couch, and Hotch couldn't help a little sarcastic applause. They all whirled around with faces like those of guilty little children who'd disobeyed their parents, and Hotch decided to play the role. He kept a straight face, but inside he was grinning evilly. "In case you were wondering, yes, your earth-shaking music woke me up. But then again, I guess I wasn't invited to the festivities."

Elle was the one who answered; he felt a twinge of guilt at her complete dejection, but he smothered it. "Actually, you were going to be, Hotch. We're really sorry; it's just that we got sort of overeager for a little fun and started the party a little early. We were hoping you'd get a bit more sleep first..." She stopped there, clearly at a loss for anything else to say. The guilty twinge was getting more insistent. It was time to end this.

"Did you bring me cake?" Everyone froze in disbelief, and then Elle pulled herself together and pounced.

"You bastard!" she giggled, punching him hard in the shoulder. "I can't believe you! Just for that, you have to dance with me." Her grin widened as Hotch's eyes did, dramatically; he looked like a cornered deer.

"If I dance, it's not going to be to that computer-generated din I just heard," he insisted. "How about some Sinatra?" Morgan rolled his eyes.

"Hotch, you think I brought any?"

"Center shelf, two rows up," came Gideon's helpful contribution from the kitchen.

"There, you see? Someone's on my side." Hotch watched gleefully as Morgan reluctantly found the CD and turned it over. Strangely enough, though, his expression changed to one of amusement as he put the disc in the player and chose a song. Everyone laughed as "Come Fly With Me" filled the room.

"Appropriate," was Reid's comment. Hotch smiled and whisked Elle up and around; to his total shock, she was able to follow him very well. His surprise must have shown, because she raised a teasing eyebrow.

"Hey, no sweat. Ginger Rogers had to do it in a skirt and three-inch heels. I count myself pretty lucky that my Fred has no dress code." Smirking, she looked him pointedly up and down, from T-shirt to gray sweatpants to yellow-toe socks. He grabbed her around the waist in retaliation and dipped her until her head bumped lightly against the thinly rug-covered hardwood floor.

Gideon entered the room to the sound of Elle's colorful exclamation, carrying a tray of food in one arm and the baby in the other. "Hey, kids, play nice." However, his comment went unheard under the hysterical laughter that greeted his appearance. Elle buried her face in Hotch's shoulder to stifle her mirth, but it wasn't working very well. Gideon's long-suffering expression was half-covered in something brown and sticky, and his apron and shirtsleeves were streaked with whatever-it-was. Gideon rolled his eyes and turned to Hotch, who was clutching Elle's arm, trying to keep them both on their feet. "Your kid thinks spaghetti sauce and gravy are finger-paints. Might want to set him straight on that, for future reference." He put the tray on the coffee table and the baby in his highchair, then he spread his arms wide for emphasis, giving Hotch a full view of the damage. "Now do you see my point about the apron?"

No one could answer except for J.J., who gasped out: "Yeah, but you don't usually have little Picasso here to worry about. And besides, it didn't really help all that much..." She dissolved into incoherence once more. It was difficult considering Elle was almost on the floor herself, but Gideon, by now unable to keep from smiling as well, caught her eye and gestured faintly at Hotch, who looked, for the first time since the accident, as if he had not a care in the world.

Successfully passing off her wet cheeks as a product of her helpless hilarity, Elle caught Hotch's attention once more. The music had moved on by now to 'Luck Be a Lady.' "Come on, Fred, show me some more of those moves."

"You know what, Elle, I'll be right back; I'm not really dressed for a party." Elle was about to protest, but she realized that his discomfort at appearing before them in pajamas was very real, and increasing by the minute. She nodded.

"Just—forget the top hat and tails," she added half-seriously. "We're not that fancy here, tonight." He nodded, squeezing her shoulder to show he understood perfectly.

Once he was well out of earshot, there was a collective sigh of relief. Morgan surprised everyone, venturing his opinion hesitantly. "He seems...like he's dealing."

Garcia snorted. "Yeah, like he's really gonna lose it in front of us."

"But he came," Reid insisted. "He heard the racket we were making and he decided to join us. That's a good sign."

Gideon exchanged glances with Elle. They stepped forward together, and Elle spoke. "We're not talking about this. I'm sorry, guys, I know you're all worried about him. So am I. But the best way to help him is to respect his privacy, let him call the shots—_that's_ his comfort zone, and we're sticking to it. We're agreed? No talking behind his back. This is a party; so let's party."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I've added 'angst' to the category of this story; it really is getting a bit dark...ish, although it's too late, really, to avoid grief in this story—we're _dealing_ with it. I'd say it's not my fault, but that sounds a bit weird, since I'm the only one writing it :D And thanks for the blush-worthy reviews, everyone; nice to know people are reading and liking.

Fifteen minutes passed before Gideon realized Hotch still hadn't returned. If it were anyone else, this might not have been so strange, but even if Hotch were putting on a suit, it would never take him this long. The man could tie a tie in under six seconds. Gideon glanced around for Elle; she was dancing with Morgan. That was probably a good thing. She deserved some fun, and it was high time he stopped relying on her to fix things and started talking to his best friend. Gideon was aware how perfectly he had described to Elle Hotch's reluctance to talk through anything that was bothering him; after the initial overflow of grief, Hotch had hurriedly begun to internalize, but Gideon had been sufficiently cheered by Elle's progress to leave well enough alone. Now, though...no matter how good Elle was at this, it was definitely his turn.

He found Hotch in his room, half-changed and sitting on the bed, clutching a photograph of Haley that Gideon had hesitated over, but ultimately snatched up, on his way out of Hotch's house. "I thought you'd want that," he said softly.

Hotch looked up. "You might have at least told me it was there," he whispered. "I was just trying to find something to wear, and suddenly, there she was, looking up at me..."

Gideon sat down next to him. "Why don't you come back into the living room?" Hotch said nothing, only giving a slight shrug. "Hotch, Elle told me you didn't want the others surrounding you like this. I convinced her that we could all use a night away from the outside world. If you're angry, blame me."

Hotch sighed. "I'm not angry. I just feel...like I'm a pawn in some scheme you and Elle are hatching for my convalescence. I'm tired, Jason; I don't want to play anymore. I feel like you're throwing Elle at me, hoping that she'll work on me like some kind of prescription."

Gideon was unshaken. "Why not? How do you know it won't work? Let her mother-hen you for a while, see if you don't feel better."

Hotch's eyes suddenly sparked. "I don't want to feel better. I want my wife back, and if you can't do that for me, then leave me alone!" He let the picture frame fly, and it crashed against the wall, shattering the glass, along with his self-control. Gideon smiled sadly as he lowered himself to the floor next to Hotch and put an arm around him. These sobs were healthier than before; there was more pain and less shock. As if on cue, Elle burst through the door, taking in the broken glass and Hotch's crumpled form in an instant and wrenching him away from Gideon, who smirked a little to himself; he doubted she even realized he was there. After a moment, though, he placed a reassuring hand on Hotch's back and sighed.

This plan of his was going a little _too_ well as far as Elle was concerned. This could all get much, much worse, very fast. Hotch was nowhere near ready to deal with the emotions Gideon could see roiling in the depths of Elle's expressive eyes. Not even in the same universe with ready. It was too soon for any of this, and he needed to help her slam on the brakes. Hotch was safe, though, for the moment; Gideon had complete faith in Elle's self-control. He did an incredulous mental double-take even as he thought it. But it was true. Elle would cut off her own hand before she'd allow herself to add to Hotch's grief and guilt, and giving him the merest hint of what she was feeling now fell squarely in the middle of that category. Gideon made a mental note to have a talk with her later. Right now, their priorities were clearly elsewhere. Hotch stirred in Elle's arms, and Gideon gave his back a gentle pat. Elle's expression was now reflecting nothing but sadness and sympathy as Hotch wiped his eyes and tried to figure out which way to look. He finally settled on staring at the carpet. Elle drew back and threaded her fingers through Hotch's, and from her quickly stifled wince Gideon could tell that it was a death grip. He left his hand between Hotch's shoulder blades and waited. The first words out of Hotch were pretty much what he had expected, and he was ready for them.

"I'm sorry...you shouldn't have had to—"

"Don't," Gideon interrupted softly. Hotch gave him a brief smile of understanding.

"We don't have to," Elle added. She and Gideon exchanged a glance. _He's not ready to talk yet_. Elle gave him a slight nod. "But hell, who needs music and food and cake? This is the place to be." It elicited a chuckle from Hotch, and the oppressive atmosphere instantly lightened.

"Be that as it may," Hotch retorted, "I haven't eaten since yesterday, and I could swallow a horde of elephants right about now with room to spare. I'm not missing Gideon's cooking for anything short of the Apocalypse."

"Alright, Elle, let's get out of the way so he can make himself presentable." She nodded, and they both stood together, closing the door behind them but unwilling to leave the hallway. He caught her eye. "Elle...be careful," he murmured.

She looked defensive, then guilty, then overwhelmed by the enormity of her situation, then defensive once more. "Gideon, you were in there with me. You saw him. I would never—"

"He's not the one I'm worried about just now."

Elle gave him a painful smile. "I'll be fine. He needs me, and I won't let...whatever-this-is jeopardize everything. It's ok."

Gideon snorted. "That really isn't the word I'd use. But...I trust you." He squeezed her shoulder fondly, and she smiled back. Only a few more moments passed before the door opened and emitted Hotch in what was, for him, casual dress. He raised his eyebrows at their continued presence outside his door.

"We're your bodyguards," Elle offered. "Just making sure you don't collapse from starvation before you get to the living room."

Hotch gave her his 'we-come-from-different-planets-don't-we' look and made his way back to the party, his two escorts trailing behind. Only when they reached their destination did Gideon realize that all the others had stayed put throughout the sounds of angry shouting and glass breaking. They were trained well. And more than caring about Hotch, they understood him. Gideon felt very proud.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Oooh, another update; I'm on a roll…by my standards, anyway. I think this story is slowly getting better, if I do say so myself. Little teeny reference to _Sunday in the Park With George_, if you can catch it, because that show lifts me up and away every single time I watch it, and I couldn't resist. (Now, if only they would release a DVD of _The Secret Garden_...) I find it colossally ironic that the vast majority of the things I love happened when I was just a little munchkin, or before I was born (_Evita_). When Jimmy Buffett sings about being born 200 years too late to be a pirate, I know how he feels :) Anyway, enough Patinkin-touting; on with the story.

Hotch was in great demand for the rest of the evening. The others gathered around him like a tribe around their chieftain, making it their business to keep him entertained. All except two. Gideon sat off to one side, keeping himself in Hotch's line of sight just in case, but simply observing, profiling, thinking what to do next. Elle dozed on the couch next to Hotch, having gotten a grand total of approximately twenty minutes of sleep the night before. Morgan had squeezed himself in next to her, making room by lifting her feet into his lap. And J.J. had curled herself like a cat into the corner of the sofa on Hotch's other side. Reid and Garcia both sat cross-legged at Hotch's feet, completing the circle. Gideon smiled at the symbolic show of support. Hotch obviously recognized it for what it was; his habitually stiff posture was relaxed, and one arm was loosely wrapped around the slumbering little boy in his lap while the other rested on top of the cushion behind J.J.'s head. Reid was telling a story about a high school exam which he had finished in thirteen and a half minutes, but being too afraid to leave the room in case the class jocks, who had 5 years and about 100 pounds on him, came after him later for showing off, he had spent the next hour and a half beating himself at Tic Tac Toe. "Only you, kid," Morgan laughed, "only you."

J.J.'s cell rang. The smiles instantly disappeared. Garcia lifted the phone out of J.J.'s purse as if it were a snapping cobra and tossed it in her direction. When the call ended, the room was echoing with the stillness. "It's a case," Hotch finally murmured to himself.

J.J. sighed, noticing his withdrawal into his own mind. "Yeah. We have to go."

"Where?" Gideon interjected quickly.

"Arizona," was the whispered response.

Hotch's eyes sprang toward Gideon's corner, and their gazes locked. The others waited, trapped in a bewildering tennis match as the two warhorses waged their silent battle.

_I'm part of this team, Jason._

_The part that needs a break._

_My team, my responsibility._

_You never put in for time off, did you?_

_Too many monsters._

"Stay with Garcia," was Gideon's only comment. 

"Yeah, you and Jack can hang out with me. Just as long as you don't change him on my keyboard or anything...Boss." The last was tacked on hastily when she saw Hotch's face.

"I'm going with you," he retorted flatly. It was the tone that brooked no argument. Gideon had heard it innumerable times before; sometimes he heard it even when Hotch was nowhere to be seen, a mantra of self-discipline that took the form of his best friend's inflexible conviction in his ear. Now, though, it held no more power over him. Retreat was not an option.

"You're staying here and looking after your son." Hotch still looked mutinous, so Gideon kept going. "We can fax you crime scene photos and geographic profiles, and if we need your advice, there's something called a telephone that's useful for that kind of thing. But -- you are not getting on that plane."

There was another short staring contest, and when he broke it, Hotch's voice was deceptively artless. "Why don't you guys go pack and head for the airstrip? I want to talk to Gideon."

The others lingered a little uneasily; they didn't know whether or not to say goodbye. Morgan draping a half-conscious Elle over his arm and ferrying her towards the door seemed to decide them. They filed out behind him, Reid looking fearfully back over his shoulder. If Hotch hadn't been so furious, he might have smiled. Reid obviously thought that he and Gideon would tear each other to pieces like rabid dogs the moment they were left alone.

Not far from the truth.

"Don't do that," he said softly. It sounded like a plea, but he knew that Gideon knew better. He watched as Gideon stepped forward and lifted the baby, settling Jack against his chest as he seated himself once more.

"Hotch, when I came back to the team after medical leave, it was with the understanding that you had the power to relieve me of my authority if I showed signs of...compromised judgment. Sure, you were hoping you wouldn't have to, and you didn't...but you wouldn't have hesitated."

"Don't you tell me I can't do my job, Jason! Don't you dare." Gideon winced at the fetterless rage blazing out to envelop him. He had the unsettling feeling of creeping up on something large and dark...and dangerous.

"I never said that. But what if you found you couldn't? Could you step back?"

"Step back?" Hotch's voice was bitterly scornful. "Jason, have you ever known me to step back? I missed birthdays, anniversaries...I wasn't there during most of Haley's pregnancy, and I missed my son's first steps. All for this: the job...the challenge, the hunt. I'm a bigger part of this team than I ever was of my own family because I've devoted my life to chaining up the monsters. My wife drew her last breath when I was on a case. I wasn't even thinking about her, Jason. And if you tell me that it was all for nothing because I'm no good to the team now...I'll kill you. And I promise you, I can make it look like an accident."

"And what about you?" Gideon was angry now. Hotch was always so solicitous of everyone, especially his best friend, but accepting the favor in return seemed to be beyond him. "Are you ready to face grieving parents, children – spouses? Are you ready to convince them to put their grief aside to help us find the one responsible? I'm not talking about you jeopardizing the case, or being insensitive to their feelings; you're not capable of either. I'm talking about you and how you're going to feel when you're submerged in that hell and you realize you need to feel like your own pain is insignificant by comparison so you can put it aside long enough to crawl inside the unsub's head. You'll work case after case, and you'll make sure no one can doubt you're a hell of a profiler. But you'll wake up one day and realize the man Haley married doesn't exist anymore. And that's about the worst insult to her memory I can think of."

Hotch's face was hidden in his hands, so his unsteady reply was muffled. "Don't take this away from me, Jason," he implored. "Don't trap me here with all the things I wish I'd done differently. You can glue me to a desk at the local PD if you want; just don't leave me behind."

Gideon studied him for a moment -- the light...the shadows... "You think Jessica would take Jack for a few days?"

The grateful shine in Hotch's eyes turned grim. "She's not going to be happy."


	7. Chapter 7

As Hotch dialed Jessica's number, he looked around for Gideon and found that he was nowhere in sight. Sneaky bastard, he thought. Not that he really wanted to be here for this conversation, either.

Five minutes later he was wishing he'd listened to himself.

"You son of a bitch!" greeted his request.

"Jessica, please..."

"No! You listen to me, Aaron. Jack has just lost his mother, and if you think I'm going to help you become an absentee father into the bargain, you've lost your mind. I want to bury my sister, Aaron, not hang on for a few days until it's convenient for you to take the time!" She was hysterical by this point, and Hotch forced himself not to hang up. "She didn't mind when you did this to her – she signed on for it – but she minded for Jack's sake, and so do I. I'm his aunt, and I'm not going to let you abandon him!"

The unspoken words trumpeted through Hotch's mind, and he confronted her with them. "Like I abandoned Haley?" He cringed as all efforts to control his voice failed miserably.

"I'm sorry...I know that's not fair. I just can't help feeling..."

"That I should have been there. I should have been driving that car. Haley would still be alive...if it had been me instead." Hotch didn't need the ensuing silence to know he'd hit the bull's eye. He pressed one hand against his forehead, fishing vainly for that self-control he was so famous for. But, much like Gideon, it had fled the room. The sound of Jessica dissolving into tears was not helping.

"Aaron, I'm so sorry," she gasped miserably. "But she was my _sister_..."

"She was my wife!" he bellowed, finally allowing the agonizing torrent of rage and guilt to sweep away all desire to spare her feelings. "Do you think I'm just going right on with my work like nothing happened? Or am I running off to immerse myself in the bodies of other innocent victims just to escape, with no regard for my son? Tell me, Jessica. No? Ok, I'll tell you. You're right. I wasn't there when Haley needed me, and I need to make it count. It has to mean something. I need my team around me, I need to work with them and feel them relying on me, trusting me. And even one second of feeling useful to _someone_ would be a nice bonus." He paused, breathing deeply and recovering his habitual even tones. "Jessica, Jack will be fine with you for a few days. But if I don't do this... he won't have a father for you to worry about." She said nothing; she was probably afraid to ask what that meant. "Jessica, do you honestly think I'd ignore his needs, just forget about him like that? My little boy? He's all I have."

"You can tell yourself that, Aaron." Her voice was tired, blank. "Just like you told yourself that Haley was your world. But the truth is, Agent Hotchner, there is nothing more important to you than your job. And someday, Jack will suffer for it. Of course I'll take him, since you're obviously going anyway. But I'm not my sister. Don't expect me to understand." She cut the connection, and Hotch was left staring numbly at the phone. He buried his face in his hands and prayed for Gideon to reappear from wherever the hell he had shuffled off to.

He did, finally, only visible from nose to hairline and from knees to feet around armfuls of duffel bag, and he lowered the whole pile with a relieved whoosh just as Hotch's accusing stare hit him straight between the eyes. "Did you really want me here for that?" he asked softly, cocking his head like an inquisitive bird. Hotch shrugged.

"I don't know, Jason. I'm not sure of much anymore. How do you know what I want when I can't even figure it out?"

Gideon smiled, settling himself next to his friend on the couch. "You feel guilty, and you're doubting yourself. And I'm sure Jessica didn't cheer you up. But if you expect me to join that club, you'd better think again."

Like a flash of lightning, Hotch snatched Gideon's hand up in his own and held on unyieldingly. Gideon squeezed back just as hard; if he was going to be a life raft, he was going to do the thing properly, regardless of the cost to his fingers. But Hotch wasn't finished.

"Can you guys help me?" he whispered. The hopeless sound of a lost man searching for guidance in the wilderness brought the tears burning to Gideon's eyes, but he viciously forced them back.

"We're here to try. Tonight was for you, you know."

"Yes, I know. I felt badly about Elle, though. She ran out of steam because she'd sat up half the night before with Jack."

Gideon gave him a pointed look. "If she hadn't wanted to, we'd have heard about it all evening," he joked.

Hotch smiled reflexively. "She's changed so much. Remember when it was all either of us could do to keep her from slicing the unsubs into tiny pieces instead of arresting them?"

Gideon grinned. "You've rubbed off on her."

"Really?" This idea sent flames leaping up into Hotch's weary eyes, completely transforming them, and Gideon saw it – and summarily clamped down on the thrill of victory that shot through him. _Too soon, remember?_ he reminded himself sternly. "I don't know," Hotch mused doubtfully. "I see more of you in her."

Gideon smirked. "She treats me like a high school teacher," he said lightly, "but she likes to fight me on things, to test the boundaries. She missed out on the teenage saga of defying her father," he explained more soberly. "The direction she takes from you is much subtler. She can see how good you are at what you do, how the people around you respect you because you treat them with respect...how much you want to protect them from everything that's out there, even when you know it's impossible. She came into this job as the unstable element, and she knew it, so she tried to make a place for herself on the team that she felt she deserved. And she figured the best way to do that was to watch you, to work with you and learn from you how to become a better profiler." Gideon paused for a moment out of respect for Hotch's fraying control; the bloodless grip on his hand was trembling. "She's getting there, although she still has to watch that impulse to string the unsubs up by their earlobes." Hotch snorted, and the tension in his muscles eased.

"She told you all that?" he murmured. He obviously wanted to believe but didn't quite dare. Gideon squeezed his hand briefly.

"Parts of it," he affirmed. "As for the rest, well, I'm not such a bad profiler myself." Hotch laughed.

"No, you're not," he agreed.

"We'd better get a move on," Gideon nudged gently. "The others are probably waiting for us."

"I think I can face Jessica now," Hotch conceded gratefully.

"Good. Just remember, Haley was her sister."

Hotch grimaced. "As if she'd let me forget it."

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A/N: Please review! I know you sometimes feel like you don't have anything to say, but I only got one review for the last chapter, and that makes me kinda sad :(

P.S. I've upped the rating for some language some people might not be comfortable with. Just playing it safe, even though this chapter is pretty harmless, just because I can't promise I'll remember in future.


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